He brightens when he says this. A boyish smile-not a submitted-for-your-approval look, nor a smug “gotcha,” but more the innocence of knowing-crosses his face. Just as seamlessly as recognizing the way politics permeates how people live, the political is as intimate and personal as a love song.
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Working from a realm of questioning rather than finger pointing, Browne has elevated the notion of the gentle tug or soft reveal to leave haunting realizations in his listeners’ consciousness. With the Latin-based “Going Down To Cuba,” the notion of our embargo gets draped in the humanity of not just the people but the common sense of a culture facing hardships yet having the wherewithal to “make such continuous use of the verb ‘to resolve’…”
“It’s not easy to write a song about foreign policy,” he allows, settling behind a grand piano in the tracking room of his Santa Monica studio. “If you know about the politics and the history, the embargo against Cuba…the details…then there’s embracing what’s good about the people, their commitment to having a good time in spite of it all.
“Carlos Barella, who is a really, really great writer and very well-known there, is a perfect example; he is very committed to Cuba, and he’s not going to leave, but he is also not going to appear at any of the State rallies. He is not viewed as helpful [by the government].
“You know, they may not have all the freedoms that we do, but they know what to do in a hurricane…”
It is said without recrimination, but the point dangles out there. Quiet. Gentle. Point blank.
In some ways, the centerpiece of Time the Conqueror-with its recognition that the only true inevitability is time’s passing and erosion of all that stands before it-is a hurricane. Not just any hurricane, but Katrina, who blew into the Crescent City, took out large parts of Louisiana and Mississippi and created what has become a now invisible diaspora of families for whom there is inadequate support to return to the places they call home.
With a murky groove and a buzzing guitar line, there’s a definite pressure cell that the baleful vocal works against-not pushing, not pulling, just present in a way that can’t be ignored. And against that lagging shuffle, Browne begins a tumble of questions designed to ground not just the reality of being there-amidst the denial and then the rising waters-but the sense that it’ll be OK, and that a bit of trust in our civic infrastructure is washing away.
… Where were you when the sky cracked open?
heading for shelter and barely coping
thinking you could ride the storm out
hoping it would be alright
Where were you when they gave the warning?
Hundred-fifty mile winds by morning…
Where were you in the social order?
The Lower Nine or a hotel in the Quarter
Which side of the border between rich and poor?
Where were you going to evacuate to?
assuming there was any way to…
Jackson Browne is a lyrical genius and has a voice to melt glass.
It was an honor meeting him the few times I did; he is a gentleman and a scholar and funny as well. Simply adorable.